


Missed Connections

by Peanut_McNut



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, Fluff with a side of angst, Human!Castiel - Freeform, M/M, delayed flight au, destiel au, stuck overnight in an airport
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-16 17:38:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2278680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peanut_McNut/pseuds/Peanut_McNut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean Winchester's flight gets cancelled, he finds himself stuck at the airport overnight. He settles in for a long, boring wait, but gets more than he bargains for when he meets a fellow stranded passenger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Missed Connections

**Author's Note:**

> Any and all mistakes are my own. I needed a fluff break from writing my other fic and this was the result of that. I doubt there are many, if any, airports in the US where some of the shenanigans in this fic could possibly happen, at least not anymore. But this is fiction, so we do what we want. Hope you enjoy!

“No, they cancelled the flight. We should head out sometime before noon,” Dean says, looking at his watch, “Hopefully.”  
  
It’s almost midnight. They damn well better get them out of here before noon tomorrow.  
  
“ _Why are you calling me now_?” Sam asks, grumpy, “ _You woke me up._ ”  
  
Dean pulls the phone away from his ear for a second to glare at it, which he finds satisfying even if Sam can’t see it.  
  
“Why are you asleep? It’s like nine or something there.”  
  
“ _It’s dark outside, and I was tired,_ ” Sam says.  
  
“You’re a horrible excuse for college student, Sammy,” Dean says with a grin, “I just thought since you’re my ride when I get there, you might need to know what’s going on.”  
  
“ _You could have sent me a text._ ”  
  
“What if you didn’t see it? What if you drove all the way to the airport and I wasn’t there? You would have been worried. Panicked even."

" _Uh huh._ "

"I’m saving you sleep in the long run.”  
  
“ _Whatever,_ ” Sam says through a yawn, “ _Let me know when I need to pick you up._ ”  
  
“I will.”  
  
“ _And Dean?_ Text _me the time. If you call me again before the sun is up here, I’m leaving you stranded at the airport._ ”  
  
“College has done nothing for your people skills.”  
  
“ _Shut up, jerk._ ”  
  
Dean smiles, “I’ll see you soon, bitch.”  
  
Dean ends the call, tossing his phone back into the small carryon he’d brought with him. He had managed to fit two weeks worth of clothes and necessities into a backpack, which had given Dean a sense of pride that was probably more suited for major life accomplishments like graduating or getting a job with health care and retirement benefits. He settles in, slumping down in his chair. The blue pleather rows of seats at the departure gate sit close enough to each other that Dean is able to stretch out and rest his feet on the seat across from him.  
  
The call came up about twenty minutes ago, the agents at the gate letting the gathered crowd know that their flight had been cancelled. Something about the plane needing maintenance. Since they were the last flight out on this run tonight, they had all been S.O.L. Dean had decided to stick it out at the airport. He refused to call Bobby back to come pick him up. Bobby had to work tomorrow and he didn't need Dean interrupting his sleep when he'd just have to drag him back over here later in the morning.

Between people trying to find a different flight or heading to a motel for the night, it hadn’t taken long for the place to clear out. Looking up after he gets situated, however, Dean realizes that he isn't as alone as he’d thought. A few seats down and two rows away sits a man in a rumpled trench coat. The man blinks at Dean, briefcase held in his lap.  
  
“Sorry man, I didn’t know anyone else was here,” Dean says with an apologetic smile, “Hope I wasn’t talking too loud.”  
  
The man looks flustered, eyes flicking down to where his hands clasp the handle of the black briefcase. He finds Dean’s eyes again after a pause, lips twitching in an almost smile.  
  
“No,” the man says, pausing, “I -- I was just thinking that was a strange way to end a phone conversation with someone you seemed to be fond of.”  
  
Dean has to think for a minute, but laughs when he realizes what the guy is talking about, “That’s just a thing me and my brother do. It’s kind of like a term of endearment for us.”  
  
“I can’t say I’ve ever heard the word ‘bitch’ used in such good terms.”  
  
“Yeah, it’s kind of a tradition. Hell, we’ve been doing it so long now, I can’t even remember what started it.”  
  
There’s a lull in the impromptu conversation. Dean scans the area. For the most part, everything is shut down for the night. This airport isn’t exactly the biggest or nicest place to fly out of. He doesn’t remember the last time he saw someone walk by, be it worker or wayward passenger.  
  
Dean glances over at the guy periodically, more than once catching the dude watching him. Decision made, Dean hops up, grabbing his stuff as he heads to the end of his aisle of seats. The guy looks disappointed when Dean gets up, but straightens as Dean turns, moving along the seats until he plops down in the one across from trench coat guy.  
  
Dean sits his stuff down next to him and puts his hand out, “The name’s Dean Winchester.”  
  
“Castiel,” the man says, shaking Dean’s hand with a small smile.  
  
Castiel’s hand is smooth against Dean’s calloused skin. He figures whatever the guy does for a living doesn't involve physical labor, especially considering the black suit and backwards blue tie.  
  
“Can’t say I’ve ever met anyone with that name.”  
  
“Nor have I,” Castiel says, fiddling with the handle of his briefcase, “My parents named me after my uncle.”  
  
“I thought you said you’d never met anyone with the same name.”  
  
“I haven’t. I have an uncle whose middle name is ‘ _Cassiel_.’" Castiel says, stressing the word, "Apparently, when they asked my mother what she wanted my name to be after I was born, the nurse heard wrong and put a ‘t’ instead of a ‘s.’ I suppose my parents hadn't felt the need to correct her.”  
  
“What’s his first name?”  
  
“Joshua,” Castiel says, with a hint of exasperation.  
  
Dean thinks it’s because he’d been so close to having a normal name, but the guy doesn’t look like a ‘Joshua.’ Somehow, the name suits him.  
  
“If it makes you feel any better, I’m named after my grandma.”  
  
“You have a grandmother named ‘Dean’?” Castiel asks, head tilting to the side in confusion.  
  
Dean laughs, “Her name was Deanna.”  
  
“Oh,” Castiel says, glancing away.  
  
Dean can see a blush start to creep across the guy’s cheeks.  
  
“I’m just glad they changed it,” Dean says, grinning at Castiel when the guy looks back up at him, “Otherwise they should have just cut to the chase and named me Sue.”  
  
Castiel gives him a blank look, “Why would someone name a boy Sue?”  
  
“Uh, it’s a reference to a Johnny Cash song,” Dean says, dumbfounded when it doesn’t seem to register with Castiel, “You know, ‘Folsom Prison Blues’ and ‘Ring of Fire.’ That guy.”  
  
“I don’t know any of those songs.”  
  
“Dude, I’m a rocker and I know those songs. Everyone knows those songs. How can you not know those songs?”  
  
Castiel just shrugs. Dean rolls his eyes, rooting around in his bag to find the iPod Sam had given him for Christmas last year. Dean hadn’t liked the thing at first, but even he had to admit that being able to carry around so much music in such a small package was awesome. Digging out his ear buds, Dean gets up, scrolling through different artists as he sits next to Castiel. Without looking at him, Dean holds one of the ear buds out to Castiel, having to shake his hand a bit to prompt the guy to take it from him.  
  
“Here we go,” Dean says, putting his own ear bud in as he picks a song, “I don’t have ‘A Boy Named Sue’ on here, but I do have ‘I Walk the Line.’”  
  
Dean can’t help but grin as he watches Castiel. The guy is odd, that’s for sure. He listens to the song with an intensity Dean has only ever seen when Sam is studying for a test.  
  
“Well?” Dean asks about a minute into the song.  
  
“I’ve never heard it before,” Castiel says, turning to Dean with a shy smile, “but I like it.”  
  
The next couple of hours fly by in a flurry of songs and conversation. Turns out, Castiel knows more classic rock than Dean would have expected. When Castiel asks him if has any Led Zeppelin on his iPod, Dean thinks he might be starting to really like the guy. The word ‘crush’ flits across his mind as Castiel takes over control of the iPod and starts picking songs for them to listen to, but Dean refuses to classify anything as a crush. He’s twenty-six. He doesn’t do crushes anymore.  
  
By the time 2:30 rolls around, they've grown tired of flipping through tunes. They’d long since moved to the floor, so they could lay down and stretch out, giving their butts a rest. The seats at the departure gate had not been designed to sit in for longer than a half hour or so. Dean had used his bag as a pillow, while Castiel had used his balled up trench coat. Dean casts around for something else for them to do to occupy their time. An idea hits him and has him sitting up, leaning back against the beige wall behind them as he digs through his backpack again.  
  
“What are you looking for?”  
  
“Empty out your wallet, Cass.”  
  
“Why, are you robbing me?” Castiel asks, deadpan, but Dean thinks he detects a hint of sarcasm.  
  
Dean smirks at him as he pulls his own wallet from his bag, “We’re going to do a little spring cleaning. I’ve got too much crap in here and we’ve got too much time, so let’s go.”  
  
Castiel huffs out a laugh as he sits up. He leans to the side, bumping into Dean as he reaches into his back pocket to remove his wallet. Dean’s is a battered, old brown leather wallet he’s had since ninth grade. Castiel’s looks brand new. There’s not a scratch or any signs of wear on the black leather. It does look overstuffed, however.  
  
They both take everything except their cash out, leaving piles of paper, cards, and other miscellaneous odds and ends in their laps. They put their credit cards back in, along with their driver’s licenses, not wanting to leave anything important behind.  
  
“It seems I’ve accumulated an overabundance of business cards,” Castiel says, pushing most of them off into a throwaway pile, “and a gift card to Starbucks I’d forgotten I had.”  
  
“Too bad it’s closed. I could use a little pick me up right about now,” Dean says, shuffling through his own stack, “Hey look, here’s a picture of Sam from his high school graduation.”  
  
Dean hands the picture over to Castiel. The edges are worn, but most of the picture is unaffected. Sam is beaming at the camera, arm slung around Dean as he holds up his diploma.  
  
Dean had already told Castiel all about his little brother. He’d told Castiel that he was heading out to visit Sam for a week at Stanford, then they’d be driving back home to Lawrence for the kid's summer break. He’d gushed over Sam. Dean can’t help it. He’s proud of his idiot little brother. Castiel had listened, nodding and smiling in all the right spots. He’d even seemed interested, or at least he’d been willing to take Dean’s word vomit in stride.  
  
“He’s much taller than I would have thought.”  
  
“I call him ‘gigantor’ when he’s being an ass.”  
  
“I’m sure he appreciates that,” Castiel says with a snort, handing the picture back to Dean.  
  
“About as much as you’d think.”  
  
They keep sorting. Dean notices that most of Castiel’s stuff is all business related. There are cards with important numbers or contacts from previous jobs, but he doesn’t see any pictures or anything remotely personal emerge from the various slots of Castiel’s wallet.  
  
“I’ve got a Biggerson’s reward card,” Dean says, sliding it back in his wallet with his other cards.  
  
“I don’t believe they have one of those here.”  
  
“They don’t have much here. Besides, it would be shut down for the night too. They should have a Denny’s or an IHop in here. 24/7 breakfast and burgers. You can’t go wrong.”  
  
“What’s that?” Castiel asks, pointing to something silver obscured by Dean’s remaining pile of stuff.  
  
Dean slides a few cards and scrapes of paper off of it, revealing a silver coin. He smiles, flipping it once in the air with his thumb before tossing it over to Castiel. He catches it, turning it over to examine it.  
  
“Is that the sword in the stone?”  
  
“Yeah, it’s a dollar token for the slot machines at the Excalibur in Las Vegas,” Dean says, “Sam turned 21 last year, so I flew out to meet him in Vegas for his fall break. We spent a few days there, then rented a car and drove out to see the Grand Canyon. I think we’re going to make it an annual thing.”  
  
In fact, Vegas is a stop on their trip back to Kansas from California. If Dean ever gets out of this airport that is. Castiel hands the coin back to him. They finish riffling through everything, putting away anything they want to keep. Dean gathers his and Castiel’s trash up, groaning as he picks himself up off the floor to carry it over to one of the nearby trash cans. He’s getting ready to throw the pile in when he notices a scrap of paper sticking out from the bottom of the heap.  
  
He pulls it out and finds an old yellow post-it note. The sticky part on the back has long since lost any adhesiveness. On it is a detailed drawing of a bird sitting on a branch, wings starting to spread as if it’s preparing to take flight. Dean dumps the rest of the stuff in the trash before heading back towards Castiel.  
  
“What’s this?” Dean asks, eyebrow raised as he holds the paper up.  
  
Castiel full on blushes this time, “It’s nothing. I just doodle sometimes.”  
  
“Doodle? Looks a helluva lot more complex than a doodle to me,” Dean says, as he sits back down next to Castiel.  
  
Castiel tries to grab it out of his hands, but Dean holds it out of his reach, studying it. Yeah, it may have started out as a doodle, but this qualifies as a drawing. There’s shading and stuff. Dean’s no expert on art, but it looks to him like Castiel put some time into it. Hell, he’d kept it hadn’t he? It must mean something to him.  
  
“Dude, this is full on art.”  
  
“It’s really not,” Castiel says, giving up on trying to grab it.  
  
“You’re good,” Dean says, glancing at him, “I’m lucky if I can draw a stick figure, and that doesn’t usually turn out all that great. Do you draw a lot?”  
  
Castiel furrows his brow, examining Dean like he’s trying to figure out if he’s making fun of him or not.  
  
“I used to. When I was a kid.”  
  
“How come you stopped?”  
  
“It wasn’t a relevant skill,” Castiel says, eyes falling to where his hands are folded in his lap.  
  
They don’t speak for a few moments, both left to their own thoughts. Someone in Castiel’s past must have given him that crap line about art being a waste of time. Dean finds he’s angrier than he probably should be at that person, considering he’s only known Castiel for a few hours.  
  
“Are you sure you want to throw it away, Cass?”  
  
“I don’t need it.”  
  
“Then I’m keeping it.”  
  
“What?” Castiel asks, staring at Dean in shock.  
  
“Yep, and here,” Dean says, turning to unzip a side pocket in his backpack where he keeps a pen, “I’d like you to sign it.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because it’s art and I like it and I’d really like you to sign it for me,” Dean says, holding out the piece of paper and his pen, “Please?”  
  
Castiel stares down at the pen like it might bite him, but he takes it and the post-it note. Dean watches as Castiel carefully writes his name in neat cursive at the bottom of the yellow paper. He hands it back to Dean with an odd look on his face, caught somewhere between surprise and amusement. Dean takes both the paper and the pen back with a smile. He puts the pen away and tucks Castiel’s drawing in his wallet, behind the picture of him and Sam and the coin.  
  
“Thanks,” Dean says, after stowing his wallet.  
  
“You’re welcome,” Castiel says, still staring at Dean.  
  
The guy stares a lot, Dean’s noticed. Though, it’s not like he can do much complaining about it. Dean has only noticed because he’s done more than his fair share of staring too.  
  
“So where are you headed, Cass?” Dean asks, breaking their eye contact as he settles back against the wall again.  
  
“I’m heading to San Jose.”  
  
“Business or pleasure?”  
  
“Business,” Castiel says, sounding less than pleased at the prospect, “One of my brothers asked me to oversee one of our projects out there.”  
  
“Brothers?”  
  
Castiel shrugs, “Yes, my family owns various businesses, all of them run by my older brothers. The vast majority of which are stationed along the East coast, but we’ve had a few new acquisitions in San Jose.”  
  
“I’m guessing your not from Kansas then, huh?”  
  
“No, I flew out of Boston, actually,” Castiel says as Dean tries not to be so disheartened by the news than he actually is, “Our flight was stopping here to pick up more passengers when they realized there was a malfunction with the plane. That was your flight?”  
  
“Yeah, guess we kind of got you guys stranded in a round about way. Sorry about that.”  
  
“There are worse things,” Castiel says, glancing away from Dean with that shy smile of his.  
  
And yeah, all right, maybe Dean Winchester does do crushes.  
  
“What about you?” Castiel asks, “What do you do, Dean?”  
  
“Right now I’m a mechanic in my Uncle Bobby’s shop, but I’m training to be a firefighter.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Yep. I’ve got one year left to go on my degree and I’ve already got my EMT training under my belt, so I’m getting there.”  
  
Castiel tilts his head, “If you’re already a trained mechanic what possessed you to become a firefighter?”  
  
It’s Dean’s turn to look away. He doesn’t talk to anyone much about his past, let alone a relative stranger.  
  
“Dean?” Castiel asks, concerned, “I didn’t mean to over step my bounds.”  
  
“It’s not you, I don’t -- I don’t normally talk about it, that’s all.”  
  
Castiel nods, “That’s fine.”  
  
He doesn’t probe further like other people have in the past. Castiel doesn’t push. He just accepts the fact that Dean doesn’t like to talk about it and moves on. Dean is just as surprised as Castiel when he finds himself speaking.  
  
“Our mom died in a fire when I was four. Sam was only 6 months old,” Dean says.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Castiel murmurs.  
  
Dean shrugs, “It was a long time ago.”  
  
“That doesn’t matter.”  
  
The way Castiel says it, Dean gets the feeling he’s lost someone too. Castiel doesn’t offer anything and Dean doesn’t ask. Instead, he takes a breath and starts talking again.  
  
“The house was destroyed. I carried Sam out while our dad tried to save our mom. He couldn’t get to her. He made it out, but he never really came back from it,” Dean says, picking at a thread coming loose from one of the button holes on his green shirt.  
  
“He wasn’t a bad dad,” Dean says quickly, realizing how that sounded, “He tried to be there for us, but he became an alcoholic and had a gambling problem. I ended up taking care of Sam a lot of the time. We were managing to get by all right when Dad wrapped himself and his pickup truck around a tree. He didn’t survive that one.”  
  
“How old were you?” Castiel asks, voice quiet.  
  
“I was a week away from turning ten,” Dean says, clearing his throat as he shifts around next to Castiel, “Bobby stepped in. We'd always known him as Uncle Bobby, but he isn't technically related.”  
  
“He’s a friend of your family, then?”  
  
“Friend of my dad’s, yeah. Anyway, Dad left him in charge of us if anything were to happen to him. Bobby moved down to Lawrence from Sioux Falls, South Dakota, so we wouldn’t have to uproot. He took care of us and everything settled down after that. I guess the rest is history.”  
  
It wasn’t the easiest transition for any of them, but they had managed. When Bobby moved down to Lawrence, he had left the day to day running of his salvage yard up in Sioux Falls to his partner, Rufus. He’d kept his share of the ownership in the place and they’d all made numerous trips up on the weekends to visit and help out. Not long after Bobby had arrived, he’d setup an auto repair shop in town.  
  
Once they’d relaxed into their new routines, it was the most stable Sam had ever been and the best environment Dean had lived in since the fire. Bobby always made it a point to make it to every one of Sam’s soccer games and Dean’s wrestling meets. There were a few nights he couldn't make it home until later in the evening, but for the most part, Bobby was there when Dean and Sam got home from school or their various activities, with dinner ready and waiting on the table. Once Sam was old enough to take care of himself, Dean had started to work at Bobby’s auto shop a few nights a week and some on the weekends during his high school years.  
  
Dean was good at fixing cars. It was the one thing his dad had taught him. Most of Dean’s fondest memories were of him and Dad out working on his 1967 Chevy Impala. Dad had kept it cherry, and it’s still just as badass as it has always been. Dean plans to take Sam out on a cross country road trip in the Impala the summer after Sam graduates from Stanford. Just the two of them. The gas bill will be hell to pay, but it’ll be worth it.  
  
There hadn’t been much money left from their parents, but between Dean and Bobby, they’d been able to cover Sam's schooling. It had helped that his little brother was a brainiac and got a large chunk of it taken care of with different scholarships. Still, it wasn’t cheap. Dean had put off his own education to make sure Sam would be set. Until two years ago, that is, when Bobby had put a boot up Dean’s ass to get started doing some of the stuff he’d need to do for his own career. Without Bobby, Dean’s not sure where either of them would have ended up.  
  
“It sounds like you were lucky to have him.”  
  
“We were. Are. That’s where I work still. At Bobby’s shop, I mean. While I’m finishing up the rest of my training and getting Sam through his last couple of years of college.”  
  
“You’re a good brother, Dean. Not everyone would go so far to make sure their family was so well taken care of.”  
  
“Yeah well,” Dean says, scratching the back of his head and avoiding Castiel's eyes, “Sam’s my responsibility.”  
  
Any other time Dean has said this people argue with him. He can’t count the number of times people have told him that he needs to live his own life. That he was just a kid, and he didn’t need to worry about stuff like that, but Castiel nods like he understands. Bobby had been the only other person to get Dean’s need to make sure that Sam was all right. Sure, Bobby had always made it a point to push Dean to work towards his own goals and interests too, but he’d never bucked his need to take care of Sam. He stares at Castiel. Dean doesn’t know what to do with someone who seems to be so damn accepting of everyone. Of him.  
  
Dean glances at his watch. 2:52. He stretches, trying to hide a yawn. He doesn’t want to sleep. Dean likes this guy, and he’s never going to see him again after they get on their plane, whenever that might be. He wants to enjoy Castiel while he can.  
  
“I don’t know about you, but I need to stretch my legs,” Dean says as he stands, he turns and holds out a hand to Castiel, “What do you say we explore this place?”  
  
Without hesitation, Castiel puts his hand in Dean’s and lets himself be pulled to his feet. Dean puts his iPod back in his bag, zips it up, and slings it over his shoulder. When Dean turns back to Castiel, the guy is standing straight, briefcase at his side, and he’s about two inches from Dean’s face. Dean jumps a little, surprised. While he’d normally make some wisecrack about personal space issues, nothing comes to him. Tonight is weird and so is Castiel, but Dean finds that he’s more than OK with that.  
  
“C’mon,” Dean says with a grin, leading them away from their abandoned gate,  
  
The place is quiet. It’s like walking around school when no one’s there. Not only is it eerie, but you get a thrill like you’re doing something wrong just by being there. They spend some time riding the moving walkways down some of the corridors. Dean gets the brilliant idea to try to run the opposite direction, using the thing like a treadmill. As it turns out, those things get a hell of a lot longer when you’re going against the grain. He’s breathing hard by the time he gets to the end of it, Castiel laughing at him as he jumps off the damn thing.  
  
“More awake now?”  
  
“Either that or I’m about to pass out,” Dean says, panting, “You try that thing.”  
  
“I think I’ll leave the stunt work to you.”  
  
“What? Don’t think you can handle that much physical activity?”   
  
Castiel smirks at him, bumping against Dean’s shoulder as he gets on the walkway to ride it back down the hall, “I’m more than capable of handling vigorous exercise, Dean.”  
  
Castiel is almost halfway down the walkway before Dean recovers enough brain power to hop on, jogging to catch up with him. Dean’s sleep deprived brain might not be firing on all cylinders right now, but he’s sure Castiel was flirting with him. They wander the halls, talking the whole way. Dean doesn’t remember the last time he’d talked so much to someone who wasn't Sam or Bobby.  
  
He spies a few people scattered in the darkened corners near various gates, trying to catch some sleep. A few other flights had been cancelled because of some snow storm northwest of here. They find themselves walking along the food court, the different vendors all gated up for the night. Castiel points out a couple of teenagers reaching in through one of the gates. They stop, watching them. From what Dean can see, they’re just gathering up napkins and some of the condiment packets sitting in baskets on the counter from the closed up McDonald’s. The two boys have their hands full when they turn back and start heading away from the food court.  
  
“Hey guys, what you got there?” Dean asks.  
  
The boys jump, eyes wide when they notice the two of them standing there. They walk over towards Dean and Castiel,  
  
“We just wanted to get some mustard and ketchup and stuff,” one of the boys says, “Our mom made us a few sandwiches for our trip, but they’re kind of dry.”  
  
“You lucked out, then,” Dean says, smiling, “Probably a lot of people stuck here would love to have a sandwich right about now. You should thank your mom when you talk to her next time.”  
  
“We will,” the other boy says.  
  
“Hey! You two!” a voice shouts at them from down the corridor, “You’re stealing from the food court!”  
  
Dean looks around the two teenagers to see an old guy riding along on a Segway. He isn’t an expert on these kinds of things, but he thinks it should be able to go faster than this particular model seems capable of. The thing is chugging along at a snails pace for something with a motor on it.  
  
“Dude, we’re all stuck here. They just got some ketchup and napkins.”  
  
Even as Dean is speaking, the boys panic. They toss the packets and napkins at Dean and Castiel before bolting down an adjacent hallway, disappearing. They both catch some of the boys’ pilfered condiments on instinct, the napkins fluttering to the ground around them. They glance at each other in confusion before looking back up at the Segway riding rent-a-cop.  
  
“Stop right there!” the old man yells, coming right for them.  
  
“We didn’t do anything,” Castiel says to Dean.  
  
“Yeah, I don’t think that matters,” Dean says, dropping what packets he’d caught and batting Castiel’s out of his hands, letting all of it fall to a pile on the floor, “Run!”  
  
They take off down the hallway, the old man’s shouts echoing after them. They run past a line of windows, the dark runways visible only by the different colored lights blinking along the outlines. Dean can hear the labored whine of the Segway’s engine. It sounds like the old man is gunning it, not that that means much from what he's seen. He reaches out a hand, grabbing on to Castiel’s coat sleeve, pulling him around a corner, making a sharp left turn. They both nearly fall, crashing together as they struggle to get their feet back underneath them, laughing the whole way.  
  
They make a few more quick turns before Dean decides to drag Castiel through the nearest unlocked door he can find. He drops his bag to the floor as he closes and locks the door behind them. They try not to laugh, their ears pressed against the door as they listen for the sound of the Segway. The hum of the thing’s motor gets louder as it passes them by, leaving the hallway beyond the door silent again. Dean can’t stand it anymore, the laughter busting out of him like he’d been holding his breath. Castiel looses it too, as they both descend into a fit of hysterics.  
  
“I can’t believe that just happened,” Dean says, wiping the tears from his eyes.  
  
“The fact that we were mistaken for condiment thieves or our low-speed chase with the law?”  
  
“Both,” Dean says, chuckling.  
  
He can’t seem to stop. He’s laughed so hard in the last few minutes his stomach muscles are starting to hurt. Dean turns to beam at Castiel. The guy is giving him a fond smile, but he isn’t laughing anymore. Castiel is too busy staring at him. Dean hadn’t realized how close together they’re standing. He’s trapped between Castiel and a corner. Dean spares just enough brain power to recognize the fact that they’ve barricaded themselves in one of the men’s bathrooms.  
  
Dean’s licks his lips, a nervous habit he’d picked up a long time ago. It doesn’t go unnoticed. Castiel’s eyes flick down before those bright, blue eyes find Dean’s again. Dean isn’t sure who moves first, but one second they're standing still and the next he finds himself with a hand full of that messy black hair, his body pressed up against the wall as Castiel’s lips slide against his own.  
  
He would have thought Castiel would be tentative considering how shy the guy had been at the beginning of the night. He’s anything but. Castiel’s hands fist themselves in Dean’s shirt, holding him still as he nibbles on Dean’s bottom lip, tongue sliding over it. When Dean gasps, Castiel uses it to his advantage, tongue running along the top of Dean’s mouth as he grinds up against him.  
  
Dean pulls desperately at Castiel’s trench coat. The guy has too many layers. Dean has too many layers. There’s way too much fabric between them.  
  
“You should take this off,” Dean says, when they come up for air, still pulling at the coat.  
  
“Yes,” Castiel says, though he doesn’t seem to be paying much attention as he moves down to kiss along Dean’s jawline.  
  
Dean’s head falls back, eyes closing, giving Castiel more access. When Castiel hits the sensitive spot just under Dean’s ear, lips sucking his earlobe in as his teeth graze across it, Dean has to push Castiel away. He holds him at arms length, both of them panting as they stare at each other.  
  
“Coat. Off. Now,” Dean says, voice wrecked.  
  
The trench coat is off and discarded onto the black tile floor before Dean even realizes his hands are the ones that dragged it off of Castiel's body. Dean starts working on his own clothes as Castiel takes off his black suit coat and loosens his blue tie enough to take off over his head. Dean watches as the tie slides through Castiel’s long fingers, falling to the floor. Castiel makes short work of the buttons, slipping the white dress shirt off and pulling his white T-shirt over his head in just a few fluid movements. Dean can’t help but stare at the lean muscles flexing as Castiel pulls the shirt off, sharp hipbones poking out from over the top of his black dress pants as he stretches his arms up.  
  
Castiel is halfway undressed and Dean has only managed to divest himself of his long sleeve button up. He hurries to catch up. He tries to toe out of his boots while tugging at the back of his black T-shirt to pull it off, but Dean over balances. He slides sideways, banging his head into one of the wall mounted hand driers.  
  
“Damn it,” Dean says, still trapped in his T-shirt.  
  
He can hear Castiel chuckling as hands reach out to steady him, helping him to get the shirt off. Castiel is grinning at him when Dean gets his head loose.  
  
“Are you hurt?”  
  
“Nothing, but my pride.”  
  
Castiel smiles, reaching up to run his fingers through Dean’s mussed hair, “Well, first times are rarely smooth.”  
  
Dean puts his hands on Castiel’s hips, pulling him flush against him. While Dean had been fighting with his clothes, Castiel had removed the rest of his, leaving only his boxers and his socks on. Dean kisses him. The heat’s gone, their movements slower and softer. Dean shivers, caught between the cool black tile against his back and the warmth of Castiel’s skin as he brushes against him. Dean kicks his boots off, Castiel taking care of his jeans. He gasps, losing all train of thought when Castiel’s fingers graze across his dick through the fabric of his underwear. Castiel grins at him, letting Dean shimmy out of his jeans. He tosses them out of the way with one foot before Dean allows himself to be pulled back in.  
  
Dean runs his hands along the smooth planes of Castiel’s back, dragging his blunt fingernails across his skin, swallowing the moan that slips out of Castiel’s mouth. Dean backs Castiel up against one of the sinks. His hands slide down to the waistband of Castiel’s boxers, teasing along the edges. He kisses a trail down Castiel’s throat and along his collar bone, causing Castiel to let out another moan, the sound filing the room.  
  
Dean grins as he presses a quick kiss to the man's lips, “Think you can keep it down, Cass? We don’t what anyone coming to investigate.”  
  
“I don’t think that will be a problem,” Castiel says, face stoic despite the flush in his cheeks.

There’s a gleam in his eyes. Dean grins wider. Challenge accepted. He makes his way back down Castiel’s neck and chest, pausing long enough to worry one his nipples with his tongue and teeth before continuing on. He pulls Castiel’s boxers down, letting them fall to the floor as Dean drops to his knees in front of the guy, helping him step out of them.

The cold tile is hard on Dean’s knees, but he’s too distracted to notice it much. Castiel’s cock is inches away from Dean’s face, curving up towards his stomach, twitching. Dean runs his hands along Castiel’s thighs, feeling the muscles tense as he draws nonsensical shapes. Dean kisses and licks along the man’s hipbones. He mouths along Castiel’s inner thighs, never quite touching his dick. He glances up. Castiel’s eyes are squeezed tight, his breathing ragged. He’s got one hand gripping the white porcelain sink, while the other is holding on to the edge of the metal shelf just above the sink.  
  
Smirking, Dean leans back, pausing a few seconds before he takes the tip of Castiel’s dick into his mouth, letting his tongue swirl around it. He hears a sharp intake of breath, but that's all the sound Castiel makes. Dean lets off, mouthing down the shaft. He gently sucks at Castiel’s balls. Gripping his dick with his hand, Dean strokes up and down, keeping his hold too loose to be satisfying. One of Castiel’s hands finds its way into Dean’s hair. He feels a light tug. Dean looks up, holding the base of Castiel’s dick as he licks back up the shaft. Wide blue eyes stare down at him,  
  
“Dean, please,” Castiel says, voice caught somewhere between a whine and a whisper.  
  
Dean can be a tease when he wants to be, but he lets Castiel off easy. He takes as much of Castiel in as he can, tongue running along the underside of his dick as he starts working him, his hand moving up and down in tandem with his mouth. He goes slow, pausing at the top to worry the tip with his tongue before going down again. Dean looks up at Castiel from under his eyelashes. Castiel bites down on the hand that isn't tangled up in Dean’s hair, stifling a moan as their eyes make contact. Dean would smile at him if his mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied. Instead, he winks at him.  
  
It isn't long before he feels an insistent tugging on his hair. Dean pulls off, hand still jacking Castiel off slow. Castiel is panting, chest heaving up and down as he tries to calm himself down. He hauls Dean up off his knees, pulling him in for a kiss. It’s messy. Heated. Dean finds himself rutting against Castiel, his dick enjoying the friction after being ignored for so long. Castiel kisses along Dean’s jawline, mouth coming to stop next to his ear.  
  
He can feel the man’s hot breath against his ear as he whispers, “I want you to fuck me, Dean.”  
  
It’s a minor miracle Dean doesn’t come just hearing those words. Castiel’s voice has a deep, gravely quality to it under normal circumstances. The low registers he’s hitting now are obscene. Dean drops his head to Castiel’s shoulder, letting out a moan into the man’s skin as he mouths along his collar bone.  
  
Dean gives him one last, long kiss on the lips before turning away, looking around for his abandoned bag. Somehow in their frenzy, it had ended up kicked away into the opposite corner. With shaking hands, Dean undoes a few zippers and starts searching for the lube and condoms he’d stashed away before heading out. He hadn’t thought he’d be getting lucky while on this trip, but he’d figured it was always better to be safe than sorry. God is he ever glad he'd come prepared.  
  
When he finally finds what he’s searching for, he straightens back up and looks over at Castiel. The man is standing there, hands gripping the sink behind him like he might fall down if he lets go. His eyes watch every move Dean makes. He walks towards the man, putting his stuff on the shelf behind Castiel, their eyes never losing contact. Dean slides his boxers down, throwing them out of the way before dragging Castiel to him, relishing in the feel of all that skin on his.  
  
He wraps his arms around Castiel, breathing in his scent as Dean's fingers glide along the planes of his back. Castiel has his arms around Dean’s neck, pulling him in for another kiss.  
  
“Turn around, Cass,” Dean whispers against his lips after a few more minutes.  
  
Castiel does, twisting in Dean’s arms until he’s facing the other direction, hands finding their way back to the metal shelf just above the sinks. Dean kisses along his back, reaching out to grab the lube. He slicks up his fingers, using a generous amount, before putting the bottle back on the shelf. Maneuvering a bit, Dean wraps an arm around Castiel’s waist to help steady him as one of his fingers slides down, circling Castiel’s hole.  
  
He hears the man hiss as Dean’s first finger breaches him. Dean takes it slow, peppering soft kisses along Castiel’s shoulder and neck as he works him open. It’s not long before Castiel can take a second. Dean can feel Castiel trembling against him.  
  
“Just relax, Cass. I’ve got you.”  
  
Head bowed as he breathes slow, steady breaths, Castiel does his best to comply, and Dean is able to fit a third finger. Dean feels around, his questing fingers finally finding that sweet spot. He brushes against Castiel’s prostate, causing Castiel to jerk, his knees bending a little. Dean holds him closer as he works him. He half expects Castiel to grab his dick and start jerking himself off. Instead, he keeps his hands firm on the shelf, pushing himself back onto Dean’s fingers.  
  
“Please,” Castiel says through a whimper, body shaking.  
  
Dean removes his fingers, Castiel groaning at the loss. He moves as quick as he can, trembling fingers trying to tear open the condom wrapper and get the it on without losing too much contact with Castiel. He nearly drops the damn thing in the process. He doesn’t want to stop touching the man, the feel of his skin against his is like an addiction. Once he gets it on, Dean jerks his dick a few times, letting the remaining lube coat the condom, moaning softly as he goes. He moves behind Castiel, lining himself up.  
  
“You ready?” Dean asks, voice low.  
  
Castiel just nods, head still bowed. Dean pushes in, holding himself back. He wants nothing more than to slam into Castiel, but he keeps a steady pace. When he finally bottoms out, Dean lets his forehead rest against the back of Castiel’s neck, the sounds of their labored breathing filling the small room. Dean grips Castiel’s hips, holding on tight as he starts to pull back out. He goes slow, letting Castiel adjust. He can feel the muscles tightening and moving around him, the heat almost too much to bear.  
  
When Dean gets a good, solid rhythm going and feels like he’s not going to fly apart just from being inside Castiel, Dean lets his hands wander. One hand ghosts across Castiel’s chest, while the other finds its way to his cock. Dean jacks him off in time with his thrusts, taking his time. Castiel lets out another groan that he’s quick to muffle when Dean touches his dick. Castiel's fingers and knuckles are white from his iron tight grip on the metal shelf.  
  
Without thinking, Dean glances up into the mirrors in front of them. He'd forgot they were there. His movements falter and he almost comes from the sight of him fucking Castiel, his hand gripped tight around the man’s dick. He can’t see everything, but the mirror is just long and big enough to see all the important stuff. The only thing he can’t see is Castiel, the top of his tousled black hair all that’s visible of the guy’s head.  
  
“Cass, look up,” Dean whispers against his ear.  
  
He finds Castiel’s eyes in the mirror, as the man lets out a moan that nearly wrecks Dean. If anyone walks by now there's no way they would have missed that. He nips Castiel’s ear, a reminder for him to keep it down. What Dean wouldn’t give to be some place where they didn’t have to worry about being too loud. He wants nothing more than to take his time, figuring out what sounds Castiel makes when he kisses him here and touches him there. He wants to drive Castiel past the point of words or noises, until there’s nothing but silent screams. He wants Castiel to cling to Dean for dear life, leaving scratch marks along his back. Dean wants so much more.  
  
Dean waits long enough for Castiel to readjust and brace himself before he starts moving again. Castiel is so damn tight, Dean isn't sure how long he can last. Between that and those stunning blue eyes staring at him in the mirror like Castiel can’t get enough of looking at him, Dean doesn’t stand a chance. Dean thrusts into him harder, their breaths coming faster. He feels precome leaking out of Castiel’s dick as it gathers along Dean’s fingers. Dean whispers in Castiel’s ear. Telling him how gorgeous he is like this. Telling him all the stuff he’d like to do to him. All the while, they keep their eyes locked on each other.  
  
Dean’s eyes are on Castiel when he falls over the edge. It’s the only time they break eye contact. Eyes scrunching closed as his head falls back against Dean’s shoulder, Castiel shouts Dean’s name, his come coating Dean’s hand and the sink in front of them. He clenches tight around Dean’s cock. Dean gives a few more stilted thrusts before he follows after Castiel, burying himself as deep as he can. He clings onto Castiel, toes curling against the cold tile floor.  
  
They stand there in the aftermath, breathing hard. Dean slips out of Castiel, kissing his shoulder again, starting to clean them both up before exhaustion takes hold. He wants nothing more than to collapse on to the ground with an armful of Castiel, but the tile would be too unforgiving for that. They help each other dress, hands gentle and soft as they pull up pants and tug at shirts. Dean kisses Castiel’s temple, tasting the sweat still clinging to the short hairs there as he helps him button up his shirt. They pick up their belongings, Dean poking his head out the door to see if the coast is clear, before reaching out for Castiel’s hand and leading the way back to their departure gate.  
  
It’s a long haul. Much longer than Dean remembers it being, especially now that he’s so tired. They make it, finding a darkened corner to collapse in. Dean leans back against the wall, wrapping his arms around Castiel as the man rests against him, laying his head in the curve of Dean’s neck and shoulder.  
  
“What time is it?” Castiel asks quietly.  
  
Dean holds up his watch for him. 5:17. The sun will be up in an hour or so. The airport will come back to life. Whatever spell was cast over this weird ass night will end, and both of them will go on with their lives. Dean holds Castiel a little tighter. He feels Castiel wrap his arms around his waist, squeezing back. Dean doesn’t want this to end. He wants to see where this could go, if anywhere. Dean’s weary mind races with half baked plans of how they could see each other, despite the distances.  
  
If Castiel wants to that is. For a wild second, Dean thinks maybe Castiel wouldn’t want to see him again, but the man turns into him, placing a kiss on his neck as he nuzzles closer to Dean. Yeah, Dean thinks he’s safe assuming Castiel would want to see him again. He dreams up more ways for them to see each other, his thoughts distracting him so much that he doesn’t notice drifting off to sleep. He doesn't notice anything until someone starts shaking him what feels like minutes later.  
  
“What’s going on?” Dean slurs, the words almost unintelligible as he tries to bat away the hand that’s pushing at him.  
  
“Are you always so eloquent in the morning?” Castiel asks, chuckling.  
  
Dean blinks at him, eyes bleary with sleep, “Dunno. You'd have to ask Sam or Bobby.”  
  
“They called our flight,” Castiel says, his smile slipping a little, “We’ve got twenty minutes before they start boarding.”  
  
That perks Dean up, even as his stomach drops. He looks at his watch. It’s just after 9 am. Castiel brought Dean coffee and a couple donuts. If he wasn’t kind of a little bit in love with the guy before now, he definitely is when he sees breakfast ready and waiting for him. He scarfs it down, sending Sam a text to let him know what’s going on. The minutes pass too quick for Dean’s tastes. After a trip to the bathroom and the rest of the time spent sitting with Castiel as more passengers trickle in, the next thing he knows they’re standing in line waiting to hand over their tickets to board.  
  
Dean starts getting jittery. He fidgets with his bag, playing with one of the straps as they edge closer to the ticket agent. Castiel notices. He’s standing in front of Dean, but he’s bumped into the guy enough with all his moving around that Castiel turns.  
  
“Are you all right?”  
  
“I uh,” Dean says, staring at the long, enclosed corridor leading to the airplane like it's about to eat him alive, “I kind of don’t like flying. Like at all.”  
  
“You’re afraid of flying?”  
  
“I’m not _afraid_ ,” Dean says, defensive, “I just don’t... I mean it’s this big hunk of metal flinging itself through the air. I just... Yeah, all right, I might be afraid to fly. Just a little bit.”  
  
Castiel smiles, shaking his head at him. Dean feels Castiel's hand close around his, their fingers intertwining together as Castiel gives it a reassuring squeeze. Dean feels the tension ease in his chest. He’s good all the way until they reach their seats. Or rather, Castiel's seat. Castiel is sitting in business class. Dean is riding back in coach. He has to let go of Castiel, making his way towards the back of the plane.  
  
Dean stows his bag and sits down, his seat mate already in his staring out the window at the runway. Pulling his seat belt tight once he remembers how to put the buckle together, Dean tries his best not to dig his nails into armrests.  
  
“Nervous flier?” the guy next to him asks.  
  
“Yeah,” Dean says, glancing over at him.  
  
“I used to be too,” the man says, adjusting his glasses, “I couldn't even look out the window.”  
  
“How did you get over it?”  
  
“Xanax.”  
  
“Good to know.”  
  
The thought had never occurred to Dean that you might be able to talk to a doctor about something like this. He’d always just dealt with it as best he could, which mostly just consisted of him pretending that he was anywhere other than on an airplane. The man turns back to the window as the engines start going. Dean feels them taxiing around the runways, getting into position for take off. The flight attendant does his safety spiel. Dean pays rapt attention.  
  
The next thing he knows they’re up in the air and the seat belt sign goes off. Dean doesn’t touch his belt. Eventually, he’s able to let go of the armrests. He closes his eyes, opening them only long enough to check if he can see through to business class to where Castiel is sitting. Much to his annoyance, the blue curtains between the two sections remain closed for most of the flight. One of the flight attendants comes through offering drinks. Dean declines, not wanting to have to get up to use the restroom while they're inflight.  
  
It take a little over three hours before they’re touching down in San Jose. When the seat belt light goes off and they announce that the passengers can depart the plane, Dean is up and grabbing for his bag. Part of him just really wants to get off this damn thing, but another part of him wants to find Castiel before they get separated in the airport. Dean makes his way up front. There are a number of people still bustling around in business class, but Castiel is nowhere to be seen.  
  
He makes his way up the gradual incline of the gate, emerging out of the tunnel and into the terminal. Dean looks around. There are tons of people. Some of them, like him, have just exited the plane while others are waiting for their turn to board. Dean doesn’t see Castiel anywhere. His heart falls as he starts trudging towards the baggage claim area. Dean doesn’t have anything to collect, but that’s where he and Sam always meet up in an effort to keep things simple.  
  
“Dean!”  
  
Whipping around at the sound of his name, Dean scans the faces of the people around him until he sees Castiel pushing his way towards him, his briefcase in one hand as the other one waves at him. Dean thinks his heart might jump out of his chest.  
  
“I thought I’d missed you,” Castiel says in a rush.  
  
“Me too,” Dean says, trying to tamper down the desire to grab the man and hold on tight, “I’m glad I didn’t.”  
  
Castiel smiles at him. They make their way out of the terminals together. When they get to a fork in the corridors, Castiel and Dean pause.  
  
“I’m meeting my brother down in baggage claim. Do you have anything you need to get?”  
  
“No, I'm catching a cab outside,” Castiel says, pointing towards the opposite direction, “I have to go this way.”  
  
Dean swallows hard. He’s usually a lot smoother than this. He usually doesn’t have to work too hard to turn on the charm or get someone’s number. It has always come natural to him. Castiel is different though. He leaves Dean feeling off-kilter in all the best ways. Castiel is staring at him, like he has no idea what to say or do. He probably doesn’t.  
  
“I’m going to be staying at Stanford for about a week before we head back,” Dean says, taking the chance and trying to keep the nervousness out of his voice, “Maybe we could meet up somewhere. Have a drink or something.”  
  
“I’d like that,” Castiel says, a small, relieved smile pulling at his lips.  
  
Dean feels like his legs might give out on him. Between the plane ride and waiting to see if Castiel was going to reject him, this morning has been way too stressful. Castiel fumbles around, digging for his phone in his coat, but can't find it. Dean ends up jotting his cell number down on a scrap of paper Castiel gives him and watches as he puts it in the pocket of his trench coat.

It’s a little awkward saying goodbye. They’ve only known each other for a few hours and technically they haven’t even been out on a date yet. Handshakes don’t really cut it once you’ve been inside someone. He could go in for a kiss on the cheek, but Dean decides to go for broke, and kisses Castiel on the lips instead in the middle of the airport. It seems to be a good choice. The man kisses him back with just as much fervor as Dean.  
  
And then he’s gone. They wave to each other as they go their separate ways. Dean takes the escalator down to baggage claim and spots his too tall brother before he even makes it off the escalator. He hugs Sam when he gets close enough. They head towards the door, Sam throwing him weird looks the whole way out to the parking garage.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I don’t know. You’ve been grinning since we met up. What gives?” Sam asks.  
  
Dean just shakes his head even as he feels the blood rushing to his cheeks.  
  
**********  
  
“Oh my god, Dean, you have got to stop. It’s only been a day. I’m sure Castiel is just busy.”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean says, distracted, “Yeah, I’m sure you’re right.”  
  
Sam shakes his head, returning to the textbook he’s reading. Dean had told Sam all about Castiel on the car ride back to Stanford and over lunch. He’d probably told him too much considering how annoyed Sam seems to be with him, though it probably has more to do with the fact that Sam is trying to study for one of his last finals of the semester and Dean is pacing around his room like a lovesick puppy.  
  
Normally on nights when Sam needed to study, Dean would be out at one of the local bars trying to pick up a girl or a guy or whoever tickled his fancy. He doesn’t want to do that now. It’s not like he and Castiel are dating or anything. Still, Dean can’t find it in him to go out and hit on someone else. Instead, he leaves Sam to it and goes to see a movie. At least it will get him out of his little brother’s hair while he tries to study. Dean grabs a bite to eat before heading back, even picking something up for Sam.  
  
Sam stays in a university owned apartment building on the outskirts of the campus. It’s a nice place. He has a roommate, or rather had a roommate. The guy has already packed up and left for the summer. Sam lucked out and got to keep his same place for his upcoming junior year, so at least they won’t have to pack up his stuff and haul it back to Lawrence or rent some storage space for the few months between semesters. Moving sucks. He feels better when he gets back to Sam’s apartment. It’s like Sam said, Castiel is probably busy. Dean gets that.  
  
He’s still getting that three days later when Sam finishes up his tests and he and Dean go out to celebrate with some of his little brother’s friends. Dean gets to meet Jessica, the woman Sam has not shut up about for two straight months. They’re just friends right now, at least until Sam can get up the nerve to ask her out. From the looks Dean sees Jess throwing Sam’s way, the answer will be a resounding yes if he ever manages to ask. Dean takes to her immediately. She’s a ball of fire, and he thinks she’d be good for Sam. Get him out of his shell a little bit more.  
  
On the fifth day after he’d kissed Castiel goodbye at the airport, Sam’s words about Castiel’s business keeping him from calling no longer gives Dean any solace. He was an idiot for not getting Castiel’s number too. Why didn’t he think of that? Everything had happened so fast. It just hadn’t occurred to him to pull out his phone and punch the numbers in. He’s such a moron.  
  
By the sixth and final day they’ll be spending at Stanford before starting their road trip back to Lawrence, Dean has decided that maybe Castiel hadn’t wanted it to go anywhere. Maybe Dean had been projecting that onto Castiel. Maybe it hadn’t meant anything after all. It was just a hookup. People do it all the time. Dean has done it tons of times. The thought leaves a bad taste in Dean’s mouth. He feels sick to his stomach. Sam complains about his moping, but it must be bad because his little brother’s jibes are only halfhearted and designed to get a rise out of Dean to help get him out of his funk more than anything else. He can’t bring himself to oblige Sam.  
  
They leave the next morning before the sun is even up. Dean does his best to put Castiel out of his mind. Dean and Sam have fun. Dean enjoys hanging around with his little brother. He misses him when he’s away at school. Vegas is a blast and they stop at every roadside attraction that peaks their interest between Nevada and Kansas. They make plans for the summer, things they’re going to do together while Sam is home. There are a few concerts coming close enough to Lawrence that they might check out, and there’s the Forth of July festivities to look forward to. Bobby always mans the grill and they set off their own fireworks before heading out to watch the professionals do their thing. If the food or the field out back behind Bobby’s house isn’t set on fire by the end of the night, they’re lucky.

The summer passes and Dean tries to forget about Castiel. For the most part he's successful. At least until he stumbles across that stupid drawing in his wallet of that dumb bird that he can't bring himself to throw away. When it’s quiet and he’s back at his own apartment, he thinks back to that night at the airport. He can’t help it and he wishes it would stop. It’s been almost three months and it still hurts. Dean drives Sam to the airport a few days before classes are set to start back up. It’s mid-August and hot as hell. Autumn can’t come fast enough.  
  
“Maybe I can come back for fall break or something,” Sam says, standing just outside of security.  
  
“Yeah, maybe. If you’re lucky, you might be too busy with Jessica by then to think about coming back here,” Dean says, smirking at his little brother’s blush.  
  
“Shut up, jerk.”  
  
“Bitch.”  
  
Dean hugs Sam, messing up his hair as he lets him go. Sam runs an agitated hand through it, glaring at Dean before his face turns serious.  
  
“Are you going to be all right?”  
  
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”  
  
“Dean --”  
  
“I’m fine, Sammy.”  
  
His brother looks skeptical. Maybe Dean hadn’t been hiding his broken heart as well as he’d thought.  
  
“I can probably swing coming back for a few days at fall break. That’s only a month or so away.”  
  
“Yeah, OK. If it means that much to you.”  
  
Dean isn't an idiot. He knows what Sam is trying to do. He’s trying to give Dean something to look forward to. It’s not that bad though. Dean will get over it in time. He always does.  
  
“You better get going,” Dean says, “They won't hold the plane for you.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah.”  
  
“Call when you get back.”  
  
“I will.”  
  
One last quick hug goodbye and Sam is in line, making his way through the various checkpoints. Dean watches until he gets through. Sam waves one last time before disappearing down one of the halls heading towards his gate.  
  
**********  
  
“ _I’m coming home for break,_ ” Sam says.

It's the beginning of October and Sam's break is a week and a half away.  
  
“You really don’t have to. I’m fine, Sammy.”  
  
“ _Who says it’s about you? Maybe I’m homesick._ ”  
  
Dean rolls his eyes, flipping the burger he’s making in the skillet for his dinner while he has his cellphone trapped between his ear and his shoulder.  
  
“You’re a junior, I think you’ve probably got used to the being away from home thing by now.”  
  
“ _I’m coming._ ”  
  
“Fine, fine. When are you going to get in?”  
  
“ _Uh,_ ” Sam says, the sound of papers being flipped through coming over the phone, “ _I’ll be there about 5:30, October 15th._ ”  
  
“AM or PM?” Dean asks, transferring burger from skillet to bun.  
  
“ _PM._ ”  
  
“All right. If I’m working that night, Bobby will be there to pick you up.”  
  
“ _You never work late on Wednesday nights._ ”  
  
“I picked up an extra shift or two. Gotta save up for some of my classes and we’re coming up on the homestretch for your school stuff.”  
  
“ _You’re ridiculous,_ ” Sam says with a sigh, “ _But if you’re not working, you’ll be there, right?_ ”  
  
“Aw shucks, Sammy, I didn’t know it meant so much to you to have you big brother pick you up.”  
  
“ _Shut up. I’ll see you soon._ ”  
  
They say their goodbyes and Dean hangs up the phone. Even though he thinks it’s dumb for Sam to come all the way out here for just a few days, Dean has to admit he’s looking forward to seeing his idiot little brother again so soon.  
  
**********  
  
Dean is waiting at the baggage claim, watching people pass him by. There’s a kid throwing at fit near the luggage carousel. His parents look like they’re seriously considering leaving him at the airport’s lost and found. Wave after wave of people make their way down the escalators, all grabbing their bags and heading off to meet taxis or shuttle buses. It’s weird sitting there when the place clears out. Despite it being daytime, there’s more than a few instances where Dean is the only one left in this part of the baggage claim area.  
  
Checking his watch before glancing back up at the departures and arrivals screen mounted on the wall across from him, Dean sees that Sam’s flight arrived about ten minutes ago. He should be seeing his enormous baby brother towering over the other passengers in the next group coming down. The luggage for his flight is already making its way down onto one of the previously empty carousels.  
  
A herd of people starts filtering down the escalator as if on cue. Dean scans them for any sign of his brother. Sam is usually easy to spot. He frowns, wondering what could be taking him so long to get down here. Dean stands up, deciding he might need to move around. Maybe Sam used a different escalator. Dean is starting to head down the hall that connects to another section of baggage claim when he hears someone call his name.  
  
“Dean! Dean, wait!”  
  
He turns. He stands still as a statue, his feet rooted to the ground when his brain catches up to what his eyes are telling him he’s seeing. It’s Castiel, jogging over to catch up with him.  
  
“Cass?”  
  
“Hello Dean,” Castiel says in a huff, like the guy ran all the way here.  
  
“What the hell are you doing here?” Dean asks, still in shock, but not too far gone that he misses the sharp, accusatory tone in his own voice.  
  
Castiel winces, but recovers quick, “Looking for you. I’ve been looking for you for awhile, actually.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because I -- I wanted to see you again.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I --”  
  
“Wait what?” Dean asks, cutting the guy off as the surprise wears off, replaced by months of pent up anger, “If you wanted to see me so damn bad, why didn’t you call?”  
  
“I wanted to.”  
  
“It’s been months, Cass. Months!” Dean says, louder than he means to.  
  
People are glancing their way as they skirt around them, trying to pretend that they’re not doing their best to listen in on their conversation as they pass.  
  
“Dean, I lost you number.”  
  
“Sure you did,” Dean says, tone bitter and sarcastic.  
  
“I lost my trench coat. I took it off before getting in and left it in the cab when it dropped me off at my hotel. I called the company as soon as I realized I was missing it, but they never did find it.”  
  
Now that Castiel mentions it, Dean realizes he’s not wearing the same coat he'd had before. It looks a hell of a lot like the old one, but it’s a little darker in color and he thinks it might be shorter than the other one. There might be a few less buttons than the one Dean remembers. Not that any of that means anything. The dude could have a closet full of trench coats for all Dean knows. All of them variations on the same kind of theme. Dean is still glaring at him, but he doesn’t say anything. Castiel must be encouraged by Dean's silence, as he continues on with his story.  
  
“I tried to find your number in Lawrence, but I couldn’t locate one.”  
  
“It’s unlisted,” Dean says, crossing his arms.  
  
He’d never had a home phone when he moved into his apartment. Dean only calls two people most of the time and he's got a cell phone for that. He'd figured he didn’t need the extra line.  
  
“I tried calling every auto body shop I could find listed in Lawrence and the surrounding areas, but either they didn’t have a Dean Winchester working there or they wouldn’t tell me if they did or not.”  
  
Dean hadn’t told Bobby about Castiel, but he wasn’t in the habit of giving out employees’ personal information. Besides, there was a time not so long ago that they’d had to worry about some of Dad’s old contacts coming back to haunt them. Dad had made enemies back when he was heavy into his drinking due to some outstanding gambling debts. Unless Bobby knew Dean or Sam was expecting a call or knew the person calling, he pretended he didn’t know John Winchester or his kids.  
  
“OK, then how did you find me?” he asks.  
  
Dean already has a good guess on that front.  
  
“Sam,” Castiel says.  
  
Figures.  
  
“It took time to get in touch with him. You’d given me enough information that a friend of mine who’s an alumnus of Stanford was able to track him down,” Castiel says, glancing away for a moment, “He wasn’t too happy to hear from me. I had to convince him that I truly had lost your number. He’s very protective of you.”

Dean studies the guy. Castiel can barely look him in the eye. It's a 180 from the guy who'd stared at him unabashedly the night they'd met.  
  
“I guess you must have convinced him,” Dean says softening a little bit.  
  
Castiel is all but wringing the straps on the small black leather bag he has in his hands. His eyes are wide when he looks back up, pleading with Dean to believe him.  
  
“After a month of talking, yes,” Castiel says with a sigh, “I thought -- The way you spoke of Sam that night -- I thought if you’d believe anyone willing to attest to my sincerity, it would be him.”  
  
Dean raises an eyebrow. The guy isn’t wrong.  
  
“I’m guessing Sam isn’t coming is he?”  
  
Castiel shakes his head.  
  
“You two set this up?”  
  
“Sam did. It was his idea.”  
  
Of course it was. A romantic reunion at an airport, sappy enough for your sappiest of Lifetime movies. Sam is such a sentimental dork. Dean can’t help, but grin a little bit. The whole thing is ridiculous. Castiel brightens at the change in Dean’s demeanor, but he still looks cautious, like he expects Dean to turn and walk away at any moment. Dean wants to still be mad. He’s wasted months thinking Castiel didn’t care. That he didn’t even like him enough to send him a ‘thanks for the bang see you again never’ text or something.  
  
He can’t bring himself to hold on to it, though. It has been an exhausting few months for Dean and having Castiel standing here, right in front of him, like he’d caught himself imagining so many times since he'd seen him last, Dean just can’t do it. Instead, he sticks out his hand, giving Castiel a small smile.  
  
“Hi, my name’s Dean.”  
  
“Yes, I know,” Castiel says, his face scrunching up in confusion.  
  
Dean chuckles, “Probably shoulda been a little more clear. How about we start over? Clean slate?”  
  
“Oh,” Castiel says, blushing, but he reaches out and takes Dean’s hand, shaking it, “I’m Castiel.”  
  
“Nice to meet you, Castiel.”  
  
“You too.”  
  
“That’s an interesting name.”  
  
Castiel smiles, “So I’ve heard.”  
  
“You in town for business or pleasure, Cass?”  
  
“Pleasure, I hope,” Castiel says, deadpan.  
  
Dean bursts out laughing, letting loose of Castiel’s hand. He pulls him in with one arm around his shoulder as the two of them start walking down the hallway. Castiel snakes an arm around Dean's waist as they head towards the parking garage and the Impala.  
  
“How about you buy me dinner first?” Dean asks, still chuckling as the glass doors slide open.  
  
“Dinner sounds great.”


End file.
